Excavation
by Lover's of The Potion's Master
Summary: This is a group written fic, based off a round robin challenge, all things names etc were decided by the group. Mary-Sue is an author, and writer and above all, a woman whose curiosity was peaked by the survival of one Severus Snape. An interview is all she wanted, but in the end will she unearth far more than his darkest secrets?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: We (The Lover's of The Potion's Master) own nothing, excepting Mary-Sue and the story line, we claim no monetary rights, nor do we do this for profit or gain. We do this simply for the love of one snarky Potions Master. **

**A/N: This fiction as a whole is a product of a writing group, as a challenge we are doing a round robin fic, where each of us is to write a chapter, so seeing as we each lead very different lives and in many cases are in very different time zones, we shall most likely not be updating on a regular basis. This story is the brain child of the group as a whole and any constructive criticism would be appreciated, but flamers will be deleted. Please enjoy, read and review! We love you!**

**Chapter 1: Prelude**

The Scotland air was cool this mid-September day, a breeze rustling the still-green grasses on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minster of Magic, rung out over the gathered crowd, simultaneously mourning the losses of those who had died in the recent war and singing the praises of ones who had helped lead the righteous to victory.

The grounds were filled with more than just students today, as half the Wizarding world gathered to witness the dedication of the War Memorial, erected not far from the grave of legendary wizard and former Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Its smooth stone surface glittered with the ever-shifting names of those who had died; the shimmer visible even from as far off as the castle itself.

The Minister's speech finished, the crowd was left to linger, talking amongst themselves and enjoying the light refreshments provided. Closing her journal of notes, Mary Sue Cotterill made her way across the soft grass, approaching the large, angular stone. Reaching her hand out, she touched the surface, over the name of an unknown victim, this one an Anna Beckett, though the name quickly faded and was replaced by Nowell Abrams, also someone of whom she had never heard. There were so many unknowns. So many lives lost...

She sighed, thinking of her own losses. Her immediate family had made it through unscathed, thank goodness, but she had lost a great uncle as well as multiple distant Muggle cousins, caught all at once in one of the many natural disasters conjured by Death Eaters upon that world. Her direct lineage was pureblood, but cousins had married Muggles, producing both magical and non-magical offspring, and thus she had always accepted that world and shunned the views of pureblood elitists.

Surely there was no single person in the Wizarding world, or even the Muggle world, that hadn't knowingly or unknowingly lost someone dear to them due to Voldemort's wrath. As a pragmatist, Mary Sue had never been truly averse to saying the name, but had avoided doing so as it was such a cultural taboo. Now, people were beginning to whisper it to each other, though in more public conversation the 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' convention still lingered. It would, of course, take time for people to grow accustomed to the changes occurring in their world.

She sighed, withdrawing her hand. There was little time to mourn; she had interviews to conduct and needed to make the most of her time here, especially as Rita Skeeter had already inserted herself into the crowd and was nagging at everyone she came in contact with.

Mary Sue's small column was not as well-read as Rita Skeeter's, though they had both started working at the _Daily Prophet _around the same time. They had been friends at first; until the other woman's unethical journalism practices became apparent. Since then, they had fallen into a rivalry, which was sometimes civil though often not.

Her rival was currently bustling about in her flashy clothing demanding interviews of whoever was willing to give them. Mary Sue frowned. As always, the woman was desperate for attention. Her own black robes attracted far less notice than Rita's, but she was of the belief that she didn't need to advertise brightly colored plumage like a male peacock to get her stories. Her personable nature and honest journalism should be enough. Though the sad fact remained that getting interviews and stories didn't guarantee Mary Sue a front-page or well-read article, the way Rita's sensationalism overshadowed her. That was why she was working on her book. An honest narrative about the war, filled with heartfelt interviews of those people that had been touched most deeply by it.

She let her gaze rove over the crowd; the way Rita was going at it she would, as usual, be forced to pick out the sick and the stragglers if she wanted to corner someone for an interview. Or...

Mary Sue's gaze settled on a dark figure in the distance, the light September breeze rustling the black robes and strands of lank, ebony hair. The hair hid the face, but it was clear that the gaze was directed at the nearby tomb of Albus Dumbledore, and that the owner of the hair was deep in thought. Thoughts Mary Sue could only imagine.

Severus Snape. Miraculous survivor of the war. Lauded as a hero but generally quiet about the specifics when asked for details on his involvement. What _was _known was that he had been working for the former headmaster all along, and that without his protection surely half of the Hogwarts students would have been irreparably damaged by the Carrows during the past school year. Harry Potter had also made it abundantly clear, in the many interviews he had given all over the Wizarding world since his defeat of Voldemort, that he could not have done it without Snape. That Snape was 'the bravest man he ever knew'.

Snape himself had thus far managed to avoid the press, mostly due to the fact that he had been holed up in private hearings with the Minister of Magic, Wizengamot, and Hogwarts Board of Governors and staff, ultimately culminating in his reappointment as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at the school. It seemed he had made a bid to remain Headmaster, but that had sat somewhat uneasily with the Ministry, and thus there had been a compromise.

Now, as a visible professor once again, he had returned to the public eye. If Mary Sue could get an interview with him she would surely achieve the publicity she so desired, both with regards to her column _and _her book. Surely he had many stories to tell. He had witnessed such tragedy and endured so much in his role as a spy. The depth of his thoughts was surely unfathomable. If she could even scratch the surface of them, the whole world would devour her words.

Rita had been anxious to interview him as well, but he had snubbed all her requests sent by owl. As Mary Sue understood it, her rival had received quite the nasty letter from him. Perhaps her bitterness over that was why she hadn't dived in and snagged Snape right away for an interview. Though it would surely be only a matter of time before she tried. Thus, Mary Sue had to take her opportunity when she had it. Severus Snape was isolated and alone, lost in his own thoughts. The perfect time to catch him by surprise.

She made her way across the grass, quickly at first but slowing when she began to approach the tomb. It wouldn't due for her to make a noise that would draw his attention and spook him. She needed to stalk her prey carefully and do and say all the right things. Severus Snape was quite the elusive individual.

As it was, he was so deep in his thoughts that he didn't seem to notice when she crept up beside him. She could see a bit around the curtain of black hair now, the look on his face subduing her. He was near expressionless, though his eyes held so much emotion. Mostly pensiveness, and regret...

She turned her own gaze to the tomb, brushing her own long, dark hair behind her shoulder as she thought of the old headmaster. She suspected that Harry Potter had had some influence in the decision to put the War Memorial this close to Dumbledore's tomb, on the Hogwarts grounds. Granted, Mary Sue could not have anything against such a decision. She had plenty of fond memories of her time at Hogwarts herself, and had certainly loved the headmaster as much as anyone. There was no one that hadn't at least respected him, certainly. And Snape's life had been inextricably entwined with the other man's for seventeen long years. There was a connection here that couldn't be broken, even by death.

"He would have been pleased with how everything turned out, I'm sure," Mary Sue murmured, her voice almost startling her in the subdued silence as she took her chance and spoke to Snape.

He drew in a hissing breath and his body stiffened, before that silky hair turned and revealed the full, pale face with the piercing dark eyes and the long, hooked nose. There was something impressive in his image, something Mary Sue couldn't quite place, though it made her heart race a bit. Gone was the regret in his gaze, replaced by a challenging smirk and a perfectly raised eyebrow; "And _you _are?"

She took a breath, steeling herself in this intimidating presence and squaring her shoulders to make her petite frame seem larger than it actually was, "Mary Sue Cotterill, and I-"

"Miss Cotterill," he cut her off with a curt nod of greeting, which was really more of a snub as he immediately turned his head back around to face the tomb, his hair once again providing a curtain between them as he ignored her like a child covering his ears and saying 'I'm not listening', though his hands didn't move.

She frowned, not having expected quite this rude of a greeting, though with all she knew of Snape perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised. But Mary Sue was diligent, and, honest journalist though she may be, she was still a journalist. And she wasn't going to let a bit of an attitude deter her from getting the story she wanted. She cleared her throat, "As I was saying before I was so _rudely _interrupted, my name is Mary Sue Cotterill and I write for the _Daily Prophet_. Perhaps you've seen my column?"

"Perhaps," he tossed off, still not bothering to look at her.

She tried again; "I was hoping I might ask you a few questions."

"Were you now?" he replied coolly, "And what makes you think that I would acquiesce to answer them?"

This man was going to be difficult to crack. She needed to try another angle. Perhaps her honesty would win him over. "Well, Professor Snape," she said, keeping her tone polite, "As a matter of fact, I am working on something a little different than my column right now. Although, if you approve it, any of your responses may appear there, what I've really been trying to do is gather together interviews from a variety of people whose lives were touched by the recent war and collect them into a book that... well, provides an honest and realistic depiction of the struggles so many of us endured over the past few years. I know so much has already been devoted to interviews with Harry Potter and those closest to him, but what about the others? The individuals that may have been overlooked up until now but have their own stories to tell. And you... I know you've seen – witnessed – so many things, things you haven't told anyone but that would surely go far in helping me to describe for our world the deeper meanings behind the war we all struggled through and what our society can learn from its past mistakes."

"A noble pursuit, I'm sure," he droned.

Well, now she was just irritated. She clutched her notes journal to her chest, "I really don't appreciate your sarcasm, you know. I've already gathered a good deal of interviews, but there are certain things that are missing from the narrative. What I really need is an overarching view of things from someone, like you, who has seen a great deal and can offer that insight."

"I was not being sarcastic," he sighed, turning again to face her, some mild sincerity evident in his expression, "But you will simply have to look elsewhere. I am not interested in being _interviewed_, and at any rate I do not have time for your questions today. I have lesson plans to attend to."

"Perhaps we could arrange an alternate date, then? My schedule is very flexible," she pushed, ignoring his first statement about his lack of interest. Journalists didn't get stories by backing down, after all.

He snorted, his lips curling into another smirk as he narrowed his shiny, dark eyes at her; "We are persistent, aren't we?"

"Very," she smirked back, starting to enjoy this challenge. There was something stimulating about being in Snape's presence. Though he was only two years her senior and their time in Hogwarts had overlapped, they had never really associated with each other. She had been in Gryffindor and not inclined to fraternize with Slytherins, as had always been the norm. Though now, working on the interviews for her book, she was starting to believe that tradition needed to be changed. After all, Snape, a Slytherin, had done more to protect the Wizarding world than almost any other person, save Harry Potter and Dumbledore.

"An admirable trait," he was still smirking at her, "But I am afraid you will not be changing my mind. My personal life is no one's business but my own."

"Of course, but that's just the point," she smiled, an idea occurring to her when he'd said that. She was not, after all, above resorting to a little bit of trickery to get what she wanted. "You said you've heard of my column. Then you know you can trust that whatever you tell me will be treated with respect, and conveyed honestly to the masses. Which is more than I can say for _someone _else who I know for a fact wishes to write a very telling book all about _you _filled with the usual lies and fabrications. Even if you decline to speak to her, she's very good at digging up 'dirt', or, if need be, inventing things entirely. So who would you rather have tell your story? Me? Or her?" she turned her head and nodded off at where Rita Skeeter was busily chasing an irritated-looking Headmistress McGonagall about the grass, paper and Quick-Quotes Quill in hand.

Mary Sue looked back over at Snape, watching as he turned his narrow-eyed gaze on Rita Skeeter. She could almost see the wheels turning inside of that brilliant mind as he calculated the risks and benefits. Finally, a low growl rumbled through him and he spun back around, his robes whirling in the breeze and his piercing gaze sending a jolt of electricity through her; "My office. Tomorrow afternoon. Three o'clock. Don't be late. I will clear your entry to Hogwarts with the Headmistress."

A thrill of triumph exploded in her chest as she realized she had won. "Wonderful!" she beamed, "Thank you so much!"

"Don't thank me. Just be there," he snarled.

"Absolutely," she couldn't stop smiling, although she knew that probably irritated this stoic man even more. He gave her no more than another brief nod before he spun around and marched back towards the school, apparently having had enough of the ceremony for today. Which was just as well. It gave Mary Sue a chance to interview others before the day was over, and allowed her as much time as she needed with Snape tomorrow. She would hold off on gloating to Rita until the first interview had passed_. _'First' because, she hoped, once Snape had warmed up to her, if he was capable of warming up to people, he might grant her more. Surely the man had enough stories to tell to fill her entire book. Perhaps he would be the thread that bound the manuscript together, all of the chapters starting with one of his stories, moving into another's which displayed similar themes, and then concluding with one of the insights she got from her interviews with him.

But she was getting ahead of herself. The main thing was that _she_, Mary Sue, _not _Rita Skeeter, had snagged an interview with Severus Snape.

Her future in journalism was looking very bright indeed.

* * *

The rest of the interviews had gone well, and Mary Sue had gotten more than one that would be useful for her book. She hadn't mentioned her interview with Snape to Rita, and it seemed the other woman had been so busy chasing other folks around that she hadn't noticed them talking over by the tomb, which was just as well.

Now the day was done and Mary Sue stood at the door of her small flat just a block away from Diagon Alley, letting herself into the dim foyer and just barely having the time to light the room with _Lumos_ when a tiny ball of fluff ran forward to dive-bomb her feet. She chuckled and leaned over, lifting Lil' Lily, the cream-colored kitten she had just adopted with the lily-shaped spot on her belly, into her arms.

She carried Liliana, the cat's full given name, into the sitting room and placed her on her desk while she used her wand to sort today's notes into their appropriate folders. She was quite proud of all the material she had already accumulated for her book, and Snape's contribution would just be the icing on the cake. Now, however, it was time to work on her article about the War Memorial ceremony itself, for her column. Unfortunately, as she hadn't had the chance to interview Snape yet and wanted to keep him a ready and willing participant, she couldn't mention him in this article. But her chance would come.

As she sat down and began writing out her impressions, Mary Sue became aware of a soft humming as something soft and fluffy pushed against her foot. She smiled down and ruffled the fur of Reggie, her puffskein and the senior pet of the house, before lifting his round, fuzzy body into her lap. She had hoped that Lily would provide him with some companionship while she was gone to work for the day, but as it was the kitten seemed to treat him more like a pillow than anything else.

Of course, Reggie seemed to enjoy that too, as Lily leapt down from the desk onto his back and kneaded around with her paws a bit before curling up in his thick fur, her purring mingling with his humming and both animals warming Mary Sue's lap and giving her a comfortable place in which to work.

She continued working on the article, her mind focused on its completion as it always was when she had a deadline. It would have to be delivered, by owl, to the _Daily Prophet _by midnight to end up in tomorrow's paper. And she couldn't risk being even a day late when she had Rita to compete with.

Once the article was nearly finished, though, she found her mind drifting, her fingers dropping her quill as she thought back on her conversation with Snape this afternoon. His gaze when she had initially found him was a particularly distinct memory, all of those thoughts he surely had bottled up inside, just waiting to get out if only he had the proper venue and someone... someone who _understood _and was willing to work _with _him to tell the truth to the wizarding world. She wanted him to realize that she was that person.

Mary Sue had become a journalist _because _she wanted to share the truth, not lies. Not like Rita. She often did not understand how it was possible that two such opposite worldviews would converge on the same profession. It was her duty to ensure that her side won out, for everyone's sake.

Perhaps her interview with Snape tomorrow would be the catalyst which finally made that happen.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: We would like to thank you all for you reviews! As you know many of us are participating in NaNoWriMo so we may not update again until the end of the month! Happy Writing to those participating! Please Read and Review!**

**Disclaimer: we do not own anything, nor do we claim to other than the plot line!**

**Chapter 2: Commencement **

The sun beamed in brightly into Mary Sue Cotterill's bedroom casting light softly over her face and her two pets. Reggie was humming sleepily and Lily, who was still sound asleep, was purring lightly as well. Mary Sue lay on her side. Smiling, she reached out and stroked the fur of her two babies, for they were exactly that.). Well, close enough to that she called them her children. After stretching for a few minutes, she yawned noisily and threw back the covers only to pad her way to the bathroom and turned on the hot water.

She would soon have to get ready for her interview with none other than Severus Snape. This was the break that she was hoping for, the story that she so desperately needed to take her from her small column and into the spotlight. It also wouldn't hurt to be able to rub Skeeter's face in it that she beat her to the biggest scoop since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return. Pulling off her pajamas, she looked herself over in the mirror. She ran a hand through her long brown hair; it fell to just above her back side and fell ever so slightly in large but loose waves. Her eyes were a pretty shade of light blue, and were highlighted by her pale skin. Of course, she wasn't a huge fan of the light dusting of freckles that covered her forehead and cheeks but she had embraced them and as her mother had taught her, thought of them as angel kisses.

She bore curves in all the right places; more on the healthy side than skinny, she bore a small C cup breasts which sat high on her chest. On the short side, she was shorter than moist women of her generation, but she thought it part of her charm. Running her hands over her body she caressed her supple hips and arse and smiled before stepping beneath the warm stream. It didn't take her very long to shower, as she had no reason to really linger on anything. She washed the essential areas and her hair. She stepped out humming to herself lightly she dried herself , and using her wand, she dried her hair deciding to pick out a style for it after picking out an outfit.

Walking nude into her closet, she picked out matching bra and knickers before moving to her robes. She stood there for Merlin knows how long trying to pick out her robes. She didn't want to wear anything to formal nor did she feel comfortable enough to wear jeans. Deciding on a pair of charcoal pant robes, she pulled on a silk blouse and heels before adding her calf length outer robes. Walking back to the mirror, she put on light makeup that accentuated and highlighted her looks instead of looking caked on, which was common among younger witches. Her hair she left in long waves. After a moment, she was happy with how she looked and walked into the next room.

She had gathered all the information that she could on such a short notice making up a list of questions for the professor, but she did her best to keep them impersonal initially. She could always make those up as she went if he was willing to talk about such things. All she knew was that she needed his account of the war, needed to find out his reasoning. The Potter boy had said something in his post war speeches mentioning that Snape had loved his mother, but surely he had gotten over that by this point.

Pushing her thoughts aside, she made herself a quick breakfast of eggs and sausages, and ate it hungrily. Once through, she left her tiny flat and walked to the closest apparition point. Apparition was never something that Mary Sue enjoyed. It was, in fact, something she hated to do, but since she couldn't floo into the castle, she would have to do it anyway. With a deep breath, she quickly turned at the apparition point and made her way to Hogsmead

Xoxoxoxooxxoxoxoxox

Walking to Hogwarts side by side with the man, the wonder, the wizard, Severus Snape was not exactly what Mary Sue had been expecting. She had wanted to start off the interview as soon as she saw his tall and looming form on the other side of the gates. Walking beside him now, she noticed just how short she was in comparison to the professor. Her head just reaching his shoulder she had to look up at him and was more than certain if they had to stand and talk in close quarters for too long that she was most definitely going to have a crick in her neck the next day.

Mary Sue bit her lip lightly and walked silently as she had been instructed. He had more barked it at her than spoke it, but in reality, it did seem more of his personality than what she had expected. War changes people, and seeing death does odd things to people. But, Severus Snape had seen enough death in his life time; it wouldn't shock Mary Sue in the least if it didn't shock him at all to see a dead body. Being a Death Eater, he probably had seen far worse, done far worse, than she could imagine.

Shaking herself lightly, she tried to push the thoughts away, but how could she? When she thought about Severus Snape, she thought of a glorified would be bad guy who had given his everything to protect the child of the woman that he had once loved. But, what if none of that was true? No one really knew anything about Snape from his school days. Most of the people who did were now dead, or, well, people were wishing them dead.

What sort of things had he been forced to do? Did he enjoy them? If evil rose again, what side would he follow now that he had a clear choice without interference from his feelings? Fear rose in throat clear and true; her breathing increased and she felt the beginnings of a panic attack coming. Slowing down her breathing, she took long calming breaths and did her best to push her mind from the looming questions that she was rapidly coming up with. She didn't have to try very hard though, for they had reached the front doors of the school without her even noticing.

Severus stood holding the door open for her, his long robes billowing behind him in the wind and with an eyebrow raised ever so slightly, more than likely wondering what she was thinking. Letting out one longer sigh, she walked up the stone steps, her heels making the tale tell sound that high heels always do. Stopping at the top of the stairs, she looked up at him for a moment and felt her cheeks warm ever so slightly. Gods the man was intimidating.

"If you are ready we can head down to my office and get this over with." Mary Sue said nothing but followed him silently clutching the small notebook that she took with her everywhere for notes. The walk to his office was silent as the dead, and eeriness had crept into the dungeons. Mary sue felt as if it were following her. The halls smelt of mildew and something she couldn't quite place, but what ever it was made chills run up and down her spine.

XOXOXOXXOXO

Once finally settled into his office, she sat across the desk from him and felt about like a child again. His imposing manner was true to form as always. He sat staring at her; his long fingers linked together almost covered by the sleeves of his robes, which were somehow unobtrusive in their design. Opening her note book, Mary Sue looked at the first question and then professor.

"I shall start now. I just need to get my quill and ink out." She pulled the items from her robes and smiled a little at him.

"What no Quick Quotes Quill like you colleague?" he all but sneered.

"Unlike Ms. Skeeter, I am a real journalist, as I informed you yesterday. I don't have to resort to lies to get a scoop, or readers." She shot back at him quickly. Sighing, she adjusted herself in the chair and crossed her legs. "How did you survive professor? From the recollection of Harry Potter, he and his friends left you dead in the Shrieking Shack, but somehow you sit before me. How is it a man who had been so brutally attacked was able to survive?"

"It will seem quite… complicated to your mind I am sure. I am not just a Potion's Master; I am also a brewer for a few select apocatharies during the winter and summer breaks. One of my breakthroughs is currently in use by St. Mungos. It is a potion that lowers your heart rate. I took this before the battle and all throughout to keep any signs of inward stress from showing. I had no idea that it would pay off so well. It is true that when Potter, Ms. Granger, and Mr. Weasley left the Shrieking Shack they thought I was dead, but Ms. Granger refused to just let me stay there. So, she told Minerva McGongall of my whereabouts." He stopped and summoned a house elf for a tea tray and it was back In just a moment with the tray.

He fixed himself a cup and then offered her one as well before speaking once again. "After Mr. Potter went into the woods to the Dark Lord, Minerva came to me. I was so weak I couldn't consume the vials in my pockets, which, thankfully, were unbreakable; she fed me the potions and made sure I was safe. I was able to recover there, and after Mr. Potter retuned to us and the battle was finished, Hagrid came to fetch me." He shrugged and sighed. "That's it, it was that simple and that complicated."

Mary Sue sighed and looked up from her paper, her eyes shining just a little bit, glistening.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: We would like to thank everyone for reading our group fic, and for being patient with us as we work on our story. This chapter was written by _Thewandceafter. _Please check out their profile and all of their amazing works! Read, Review, and Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: We do not own anything more than the plot line and Mary Sue.**

**Chapter 3: Of Heroes and Men  
**

Mary Sue seized the opportunity the arrival of tea provided. She took her time making it to her liking, noting that Snape took his the same way – a single drop of honey, no milk. He waited with barely-concealed impatience, but she could not afford to let him control the pace of the interview – she'd get flustered and forgetful. So she took her time with it, and settled more comfortably in her chair, hoping that would help the stern man relax his rigid stance just a little. A bit of mild flattery might not go amiss, she mused.

"My great-aunt is a beneficiary of that potion, Professor. I hadn't realized it came from your hand. Thank you for that." Her gratitude was sincere, as she was fond of her great-aunt, and the truth of that must have shown, because, although he moved not a muscle, the Potion Master's eyes softened the merest bit, and he murmured, "Of course."

As if catching himself in a weakness, he firmed his look again, and dropped his gaze to his tea, took a sip, and set the cup carefully back in its saucer. His right hand and wrist bore scars – defensive wounds, they looked to be, and she felt a twinge of something – distress, sympathy… Still, she could not help but notice that his movements were precise, elegant, almost beautiful, despite the discolored nails and skin that belied his profession. She mentally shook herself alert, and turned back to her notes.

She wanted to ask, "How did you feel about that – about surviving?" but it was too soon to delve into the man's feelings. It was clear from his demeanor and his refusal to talk publicly that he was a very private man. He would have had to have been, to survive as a double agent in Voldemort's camp. She would have to do this carefully, in layers… a careful excavation… encourage the man to reveal himself little by little.

"Tell me about Hogwarts," she said.

He looked up and something like relief flashed across his face, and warmth lit a glow in his eyes. "What did you want to know?" he asked.

"How is she – now, after the war? How is she doing?"

The warmth in the fathomless eyes increased, and the man's shoulders untightened – the merest bit. This was the key, she realized, and relaxed, feeling her instincts kick in, the part of her she had learned to trust.

"The school is… recovering," he said. "Much like her people." He looked down and tugged at the white cuffs of his shirt, pulling them further over his fingers as if to hide the scars… as if he had said too much. She would help with that. The school, not the people. Not yet.

"She was badly damaged during the battle. You can still see it." She waved a hand vaguely, including all of it – the scorch marks inside and outside the walls, the dust that still lingered in the air, the corners and nooks that were not yet repaired, the difference in the grounds that had lost old, old foliage, replaced now by new growth that did not bear the dignity and history of the old.

"Yes," he said, "but she is resilient, and filled with deep magic, ages old, and she will recover. Her roots are deep, and touch the very magic of the bedrock of the world itself. She will recover."

He repeated that phrase, and it sounded like an enchantment, a plea, a prayer. _He loves this place,_ Mary Sue thought, and her heart warmed toward him, stern visage notwithstanding. Dangerous for a journalist. She had to stay neutral, but it was clear that, whatever else he may be, this man, this wizard was a person of deep feeling… and evoked deep feelings in others.

"You weren't here when she was damaged," she began as follow-up. A spasm of pain crossed the wizard's face, and he stiffened. When she would have hastened on, lest he take that as a criticism, he interrupted her.

"You understand nothing," he said. "I would think you had done your research before you came. Perhaps we should put this off until you have done so."

"I misspoke. Let me rephrase that." When he just stared at her, she stiffened her journalistic spine and plowed on. "You could not be in two places at once, during the battle, and you still had to play your part, _appear_ to be a loyal Death Eater. It must have been hard to leave the _direct _defense of the school, the faculty, the students, in the hands of others."

He nodded and watched warily, but did not repeat the suggestion they end the interview here, and she was glad he had not shut down on her. She would have to be _very _careful in phrasing her questions. "What did you notice first, once you were well? What was the worst of the damage?"

His eyes flicked back and forth, and she knew he was considering and rejecting initial thoughts. _Later_, she thought, and waited patiently. She had all the time in the world for this.

"The first I noted, of course, was the damage to the infirmary, as that is where I found myself once I recovered sufficiently to notice my surroundings."

He dismissed another painful thought. She thought she knew what it was: waking to find himself amidst the injured – his students, his colleagues at the school and in the Order. She was fascinated by his face that concealed so much, yet revealed so very much more. She wondered if he knew. Then again, years of experience at her job had taught her to watch for the tiniest of signs – the dilation of eyes, tension around mouth and forehead and eye… hands… Posture and so much more revealed what people could not say, what they tried to hide. The Potions Master had needed to master all of this, to survive, but still, his eyes and his hands betrayed him.

"I noted almost immediately Poppy's – Madam Pomfrey's – need for additional potions, as much had been destroyed during the battle and during…" He stilled, then took a breath and altered his path.

"As soon as I was able, I made myself useful replenishing the potion supplies. Once I was released, I…" He hesitated, clearly filtering something. "Minerva – Professor McGonagall – Headmistress now – showed me. She had discussed matters with me, of course, but to see it with my own eyes…" He stopped a moment, his jaw clenching, his hands gripping the arms of his chair, and for a moment, she thought he would call an end to it, terminate the interview, and throw her out, but he steeled himself, sat ramrod straight in his chair, and his voice, when he spoke again, was dry as the dust that still covered the far places of the castle.

"Fifty-seven staircases suffered damage. In places, the outer wall of the castle had been breached. The top of the Astronomy Tower…" Here, he paused again. "… was blown to bits…" His hands tightened their hold until white, and his grip looked painful. "The front doors were off their hinges, and the entrance marble was cracked. Ravenclaw's dormitory needed to be nearly completely rebuilt. That was the worst of the damage, I think, but you must realize, Miss Cotterill," - and here he looked her in the eyes – "that the fight damaged nearly the whole of the first through fourth floors. The library, however," and here, relief flew across his face, "was spared."

"Thank Merlin for that!" she murmured, and he glanced at her sharply. "All that knowledge…" She waved a hand, and he nodded, apparently recognizing that her comment had been honest, not facetious. "Did your lab survive? Your potions? Your personal quarters?"

He sat in silent stillness a moment. "My lab… Yes." He took a breath and glanced at her, then away as if taking visual inventory from memory. "You must recall that Slughorn had been Potions instructor… that I had been… Headmaster…" His jaw clenched again.

"Of course," she murmured encouragingly.

He was silent a moment. "The… the Headmaster's quarters were unharmed." He stopped talking, looked off into the distance, his eyes empty. She thought he looked… lost.

"And you've returned to your quarters in Slytherin territory," she said simply.

He inhaled and came back to himself. "Yes." He glanced around at his rooms as if reorienting himself, and she was torn between following his gaze and watching him, deciding in favor of the man rather than his surroundings. He caressed the worn wood of his desk like greeting an old friend, and she knew he was not even aware he was doing it, would not have done so if he'd been fully aware of her presence… would never have let her see something so telling…

"Slughorn's retired, hasn't he?"

"Again," he said dryly, and she smiled, nearly chuckling at his tone. "However, he will serve as a stand-in when the Ministry or the Wizengamot require my presence."

"You're back to being the Potions Master, I gather."

"That title is irrespective of my post at the school," he corrected. "However, if you refer to my position now, then yes – I am the Potions instructor. Again," he said, dryly humorous.

"Did you miss it?" she asked, impulsively.

He looked surprised at that. "Yes," he said slowly. "Much to my everlasting horror, I… suppose I did."

She laughed outright at that, and just for a moment, his mouth twitched, and a light showed in his eyes.

"Will you miss being Headmaster?"

His head came up sharply at that, and she held her breath, cursing herself silently. _Too soon, you blithering idiot!_ For a moment, she thought he was going to bite her head off, or hex her into oblivion, and his eyes sparked angrily.

"Do you think I _wanted _that?" he spat.

Perversely, his anger calmed her, and again, she felt an unprofessional surge of empathy, sympathy, rise in her. She chose her words with care.

"You never did, did you?" she asked softly, watching his face. His head jerked in reflexive negation, and his eyes threatened to betray him, glinting suspiciously. He looked away, and she did also, granting him privacy. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

"I am about out of time today, Miss Cotterill." His voice was soft, and something about it spoke of grief. She realized she had pushed too fast, and knew better than to ask for more. Not only would she not risk antagonizing the man, she felt a growing admiration, a sympathetic _liking_ for him… and something in her wanted to respect that as well. So rather than arguing, she nodded and stood, folding her notebook and flipping the lid on the ink well. A wave of her wand sealed it closed and cleaned her quill, which she returned to her inner pocket. She was aware he was watching her, and when she turned to bid him adieu, he looked surprised.

"You're not going to argue the point?"

She smiled at him. "Professor, I've already pushed more than is fair… more than I intended to. My apologies. Of course I want my story… but not at the expense of doing you a disservice. I apologize for taking this where you were not ready for it to go."

He opened his mouth as if to protest, then thought better of it. "Thank you," he said finally. "I trust if you use anything I have said, you will allow me the courtesy of a preview."

"I promise," she said. Then, "But… if you don't mind… might we meet again? I've over-stepped today, I know, but… I would like to continue."

He hesitated, then nodded. "As my schedule allows. I'll send you word."

Disappointed, she knew that to be unlikely, but emboldened by the lack of anger or rancor in his tone, she said, "You'll forgive me if I push for _that_, I hope. I do have to show you my stubborn streak, you know."

He smiled politely but distantly, and she thought he was likely to make excuses to fend her off, but as she moved to the door, he accompanied her and offered, "Perhaps you would like to see how the repairs are going."

Startled and pleased, she looked up at him, smiling her approval. This close, she was struck by how imposing he was. He was at least six feet two, she estimated, and his shoulders were broad. That much she could tell, despite the robes. He was unnaturally thin, and her eyes were drawn to the scars on his neck, just visible under his cravat. He'd always dressed like this, she remembered from school – buttoned up, closed in… The question flitted through her mind of whether the high neck irritated his scars. He smelled of cinnamon, lavender, valerian, and other unidentifiable scents, pungent but pleasant, chasing away the dungeon's mildew and age. His body emitted a warmth that was welcome in the coolness. She clutched her notepad tighter to her chest.

He looked over her, to the door, but she realized he had caught her reaction in his peripheral vision, and he nodded slightly. "Allow me," he said, and reached past her to push open the door.

They started with the dungeons, about which she was curious merely because she had never been in Slytherin territory before this. It was dryer than she expected, somehow managing to be filled with dusty air despite being well under the Black Lake, the green glow of which filled the corridors every so often, thick panes of glass opening onto it letting the sun filter through to create random pools of green through which they stepped. The light reflected on his robes strangely, and she wondered if they were not a deep green, rather than the black they appeared to be in normal light.

The kitchens were likewise untouched, and Hufflepuff's quarters nearly so. Gryffindor tower was damaged, but not dangerous. They passed by the Astronomy Tower without stopping, a seemingly random omission, but she could tell by the stiffness and stillness of Snape's breath and bearing that it was deliberate. There was a story there, she noted, knowing that it was from there that Dumbledore fell the night he died. _The night the wizard at her side killed him_, she reminded herself, and worked to control a shudder.

He kept up a steady patter as they walked, much of it nonsensical "filler", delivered as if by rote. Twice else, the drone of it broke, however – once as they passed a bare, badly scorched stretch of wall in the left-hand corridor of the seventh floor. Here, he paused and ran his hand along the wall. Some complex set of emotions washed over his face as he stood with his hand to the wall – benediction or blessing, gratitude, admiration, even astonishment, she thought. He brought his soot-stained fingers to his nose and sniffed them, as if testing for something, caught her eye, and moved on, turning his rote commentary back on.

The second was at some otherwise indistinguishable spot, further down the same corridor. The area had suffered severe damage. Large chunks of wall had been blown out, now repaired with stone that was cleaner and lighter than the surrounding stone. Approaching the area, Snape hesitated, almost hiccupping in his step, his booted foot suspended between the old and new stone. He stopped, and put his foot back in the old. "Fred Weasley lost his life here," he said, his voice and his face flat, dispassionate. "He was fighting Pius Thickness… He died in front of his brothers." He stood stock still for several long moments, and she did not dare break the silence with a question. Then he inhaled deeply, and said, without looking at her, "Or so I'm told," then, with deliberate effort, she thought, brought his foot down onto the new stone.

The rest of their tour was filled with dry recitation of what was being done to repair the damage to walls, portraits, floors, and stairs, their route, of necessity, winding and indirect, as some of the halls were impassible still, and a number of staircases wavered drunkenly, leading to nowhere but air, still rotating like limbs that had suffered amputation. That macabre thought was amplified, she knew, by the sepulchral air of the man beside her, if not keeping watch at a deathbed, then surely at the sickbed of someone dearly beloved and cherished.

Just as they reached the entrance hall, the willowy, tartan-bedecked form of Minerva McGonagall emerged from a side corridor. "Oh, Severus! There you are!" When she realized he was accompanied, she said, "I didn't realize you had a visitor, Professor."

"We are about finished, Headmistress. I was just showing Miss Cotterill to the gates."

The woman turned an appraising, slightly suspicious eye on Mary Sue. "And to what do we owe the pleasure, Miss Cotterill?" Her voice was decidedly cool.

"Professor – or, Headmistress. My congratulations on that. Professor Snape agreed to an interview," Mary Sue said. At the witch's continued… glare… she added, "I promise to treat him gently."

The woman's eyes softened briefly at that, she gave a crisp nod, and said, "See that you do. I won't have him bothered, butchered, or betrayed. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," Mary Sue said, as if she were back in McGonagall's classroom, twenty years earlier.

The woman _humphed_, and said to Snape, "I suppose you can take care of yourself – but see that you do! And… a word in my office when you're free, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Headmistress."

"It's _Minerva_, Severus," the woman said, and patted the man's arm, gave Mary Sue a parting warning look, and set off up the stairs they had just descended. Before she reached the first step, Snape turned and strode to the main entrance, whose doors were open to let in the light and the fresh air, so badly needed in the scorched interior. Mary Sue ran to catch up.

Snape said nothing as they headed downhill toward the gate, but Mary Sue turned to consider the castle, noting the spots of blackened stone, some replaced with glaringly fresh ones that stood in stark relief against the old, like newly unscabbed scars. A wave of sadness washed over her, and she turned away to find the man waiting for her, implacably patient this time. She shook her head, overwhelmed by it all, as they made their way through the damaged campus, noting Hagrid's hut being rebuilt, and activity around the edges of the Forbidden Forest.

She slowed her steps as they neared the gate, and Snape looked at her questioningly. "I wasn't here, you know." He waited. "I graduated in 1980…" She saw him catalogue that as his eyes roamed over her. _The year Harry Potter was born._ "I never took part in it." She waved a hand. "The war. Either time."

"You were too young," he offered, but she shook her head.

"No – that's not it…" She cast her gaze around all of it – everything she could see from the gates. "Journalism… is a coward's profession," she said, slowly. "We _watch _things – we don't get involved in them. We tell stories – _other people's _stories. We never have to make the hard choices. We hide behind our notebooks and quills and our journalistic _neutrality_…" She laughed at that. "Well, some of us strive for neutrality, anyway." He was watching her quizzically, his arms crossed over his chest, his hands at rest, for once, the scars on his right wrist visible where the sleeve of his robe had pulled up some two inches.

"But _you_ were here," she said, meeting his eyes. "Both times." Before he could protest, she said, "I don't mean _at the school_ – I know your appointment came after Voldemort was dead the first time." If her use of the dark wizard's name shocked him, he did not show it, merely continued to watch her warily. "But… you were in it, both times… fighting for the right… and every moment in between."

His eyes glinted in sardonic humor, and his voice was dryly sarcastic when he said, "Do not try to make me into some sort of hero, Ms. Cotterill. That will try even _your_ journalistic prowess, which I am sure is… considerable."

She knew he was trying to provoke her, but dismissed the maneuver for what it was – discomfort. She used his own method on him: she stood and watched, waiting. Eventually, he said, "The world prefers its heroes untarnished and pure of heart… brave and…" and here he laughed wryly "chivalrous. I do not qualify."

"The world may _prefer_ its heroes pristine, Professor," she said, thinking it through, "but what they _need _is _truth_. They need to know that things are not black and white… that heroes make mistakes, make judgment calls, are sometimes wrong, and sometimes choose wrongly… _and that they can change_. They need to know that heroes are men – just men. And women, of course. I don't mean to make light of Mr. Potter's accomplishments, and I certainly do not mean to demean his character…" Snape narrowed his eyes almost threateningly at her, but she went on quietly, intensely. "… but… they need _you_, too. I wasn't here," she said again. "I thank all the gods and Merlin that _you were_. The world _needs_ your story, Professor… and if and when you are ready… I would like to take part in the telling."

She held his eyes a moment more, then spun to the gate. She felt a whoosh of air at her back – his wandwork, she knew, and heard the murmured, half-sung spell that allowed her through the castle's wards. She stepped forward the ten paces beyond the gates that took her completely outside the ward, and turned on the spot, disapparating back to Diagon Alley and London. As she did so, her last look at the man was of his wand raised in elegant motion, and his lips moving to murmur the spell that protected Hogwarts once again.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thank you all for your support so far! A story is never possible without the love and support of its readers. This particular chapter was written by **_**KeeperoftheNine**_**, whose works can be found on her prospective profile. She has no beta, and therefore all spelling and grammatical errors are entirely her fault. Reviews are most welcome.**

**Chapter Four: A Curious Creature**

The spell glistened momentarily, spreading from the roots of the gate to the hideous cast iron hogs that adorned it. By the time the visual signs of his magic had faded Mary Sue Cotterill had disappeared, the only indication of her presence a truncated line of delicate footprints in the mud.

He did not know what drew him to grant the peculiar woman an interview. Had the feather clad Rita Skeeter confronted him, he would have declined, likely throwing in a poignant comment about where she could thrust her quick quotes quill. Skeeter was a plague upon the wizarding world: manipulating grief, creating disaster, subjecting the world to her poorly crafted journalistic lies. The wizarding population of Britain was so resigned to Skeeter's fabrications, that the idea of a journalist with integrity was an entirely foreign concept to them.

Severus had never read a word of Miss Cotterill's work. This was not something that particularly worried him, nor was it a mistake he felt he needed to rectify. In fact, the only time his eyes fell upon the _Daily Prophet_ was when he laid the papers upon his desk during the preparation of a particularly noxious potion. Information could always be garnered from other sources, sources not so preoccupied on glorifying 'the war'. The staff room was rife with discontent about Skeeter's interviews with the staff and students. The foul woman had evidently chosen her heroes, and everyone else was naught but a shadow in the developing history of the event.

Severus did not even wish to contemplate what she would write about him.

Would he be the love-struck anti-hero? The foolish underdog dragged through life by an infatuation for a woman he could never have? The manipulative villain? While these had an element in reality, the concept of being entitled a "hero" caused Severus' stomach to churn. It had been done for Lily, _all of it_. But now it was done. Potter was safe. His debt to Lily and Dumbledore was paid. There was no use lingering on the past.

Which brought him back to the standing question: why had he agreed to the interview with Miss Cotterill?

The meek little thing had been diplomatic in her questioning; an indication that beneath the petite features and large periwinkle eyes she was harbouring a sharp mind. Every time he had started to close off, she would apologise, changing the nature of her questioning only slightly. Her interest in the welfare of the school had similarly proved refreshing. She legitimately seemed to care for every brick, stone and window destroyed in the battle. He briefly pondered whether her attachment to the school was not unlike his own. In the hormonal tirade of her youth, had she perceived the ancient stone walls as some kind of sanctuary?

Severus allowed his obsidian gaze to fall upon the ruined castle before him. Months later, he still could not get accustomed to the carnage: the decimated brick work, the singed grass, the blackened remains of the old Quidditch pitch in the distance. He briefly reminisced on a snippet of staff room conversation, a heated discussion between Minerva and Filius about one of Skeeter's articles. Apparently the foul woman had decided that the school board was spending too much time and money repairing the ancient school. Instead, she claimed, the ruins should be left to rot while a new school was constructed in their wake.

At least Miss Cotterill showed respect for the ancient house of learning.

Pushing aside the newly repaired doors, Severus nodded a quick greeting to Hagrid, who was aiding a burly workman in the repairs to the entrance hall. The shattered stone had long since been removed, but there was still a gaping wound in the wall. Soon it would be filled. The castle would move on.

Upon making his way to the headmistress's office, Severus found himself pondering Miss Cotterill. She had insisted upon returning, something that made him wonder whether she had been a little harsh upon her own profession. Cowards, she called them. Her actions so far had shown that she was anything but. Few people, let alone journalists, had braved the daunting task of confronting _him_.

The stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office had seen better days, yet it moved swiftly when Severus uttered the password: "shortbread". The office itself had changed little since his own incarceration (for that was how he perceived it). Dumbledore's ridiculous little gadgets continued to whizz and burr on their stands, the perch that once held Fawkes remained in the corner. Minerva McGonagall looked up from a large pile of paperwork, eyes dark with exhaustion.

"Severus. Please, sit down."

Severus declined, wrapping long fingers around the back of the chair in question. "Minerva, what do you wish to discuss?"

The Headmistress gently tucked a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. "Are you sure it is a good idea for you to be talking to that reporter, Severus? You have worked so hard to stay away-"

"Miss Cotterill has assured me that any material will be passed by me before publication."

"And you trust her?"

"I do not believe she is like Rita Skeeter."

McGonagall cocked a dark eyebrow. "She is still a journalist, Severus. She may appear more subtle than Skeeter, but who knows what extent these people will go to in order to get a scoop."

"If it makes you feel any better, I will threaten to curse her family should she print anything untoward about me."

Severus' attempt to 'lighten the mood' was met with a stern frown from the aged woman. "It does not."

Sighing, Severus wrapped his fingers along the head of the chair. "I suspect you did not call me here to talk about a journalist?"

"No indeed." McGonagall rose from her chair, floating toward the open window. She looked thin – thinner than before – her cheekbones pronounced against pale skin. "It is proving difficult to find a new Potions Master."

Severus allowed his eyebrow an upward stance. "Are my services no longer required?"

McGonagall at least had the common decency to look a little affronted. "I was under the impression that you no longer wished to teach the subject. You were so adamant to remove yourself from the post before the..."

Severus stopped his tapping. "Ambitions change."

Minerva sighed. "I was rather hoping you would agree to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. We had even fewer applications for that than we did for Potions Master."

"I suspect the high death rate of candidates may be a contributing factor." As of yet, the small number of students at Hogwarts had yet to attend a Defence Against the Dark Arts class. No one seemed particularly keen to take up the position, despite the lifting of the Dark Lord's curse.

Minerva sighed. "So you will not even consider taking the position? You would be an excellent Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Severus."

"I am an excellent Potions instructor."

"I would never deny it."

Silence reigned a matter of seconds, before Severus once more spoke. "I will think on it, Headmistress."

"_Minerva_, Severus."

"Fine. I will think on it, _Minerva_."

Severus swooped toward the door, fingers lingering on the handle. Minerva's voice followed him as he submerged himself into the dark spiral staircase.

"Be careful of that journalist, Severus."

oOoOoOo

Mary Sue found herself engulfed in the sights and sounds of Muggle London, escaping into a world so very different from her own. Since earning her independence at seventeen, she had frequently ventured into this brave new world. Muggles existed; it seemed, at such a rapid pace. Their every movement was orchestrated, every new invention made redundant moments later by something bigger and better. Unlike others of her kind, Mary Sue would never claim that the Muggles lacked magic. Yet their sorcery came in vast and varied forms: electricity, transport, the beauty of their music, theatre, literature. What was Quidditch when one had Shakespeare? What were the Weird Sisters when compared to the Mozart? Queen? David Bowie? The Cure? The Beatles? The Rolling Stones?

It was her ultimate respect for the Muggle world that caused her to buy her flat in the centre of Muggle London, one block away from Diagon Alley (being close to work was paramount!). The little unit was complete with all the knick knacks of Muggle life: electricity, light bulbs, a television, an electric washing machine. When she had friends to visit, she would even activate that amazing creation known as a dishwasher.

The Muggles knew exactly what they were doing.

Yet, on this day, Mary Sue found herself ignoring the wonders of Muggle life. Her mind was ringing with Severus Snape. He was not like she had imagined. Sure enough he was guarded, a little sharp, but there was obvious affection in his voice when he had told her of the damage to Hogwarts. He loved the school: every slab of stone, blade of grass, drop of lake water. To begin on that note had been a logical gateway to further information about this elusive man.

Lily and Reggie were curled together on her quilt when she arrived back, their gentle purrs and hums soothing after her confusing day. The information she had obtained from the Potions Master was useful, that much was certain, but not enough to benefit her book. She wondered if Snape really _would_ contact her. Despite her best efforts, she had thrust the Quaffle entirely into his court. Now she would just have to wait for him to make the next move.

With a groan, Mary Sue fell onto the soft mattress, disturbing her sleeping companions. Lily yawned, her pink mouth an open chasm, before snuggling closer to her human mother. Reggie merely continued to sleep, a plump chocolate hued fluff ball.

Mind still racing, her eyes fluttered closed. Sleep threatened: despite the absence of dinner in her stomach. Regardless of the fact she was still in her clothing. It was only when she heard a loud tapping at the window that she was roused from rest. Perhaps it was just a branch tapping against the glass?

It was only when the branch squawked that Mary Sue realised she would have to get up. A particularly fat owl hovered by her window, an obscene pantomime of a humming bird. A large scroll was clutched in its beak, sealed with emerald green wax. Mary Sue frowned. Letters were rarely delivered by owl to her Muggle apartment. Usually they were filtered from Diagon Alley into the Muggle postal system.

Scooping the snoozing Lily into her arms, she opened the window, letting the owl rest briefly on the ledge. The scroll plopped into her hands, the parchment heavy. Curious, she snapped open the wax seal, biting her lip as her eyes fell upon the black, scratchy scrawl.

_Miss Cotterill. _

_ As much as I loathe to admit it, I concede that my story is a coveted thing by many of your kind. Eventually I will be forced to tell it, yet I have no desire to exchange words, let alone my experiences, with Rita Skeeter. I therefore give you permission to continue your interviews, as long as it is agreed that anything you write on the topic be sent to me first. _

_ You claim that your timetable is malleable. As such, I suggest that our next meeting take place at The Three Broomsticks. I am aware that this is a busy establishment, but feel that we are less likely to be overheard by the likes of Skeeter. 8.00pm, Monday evening._

_ Please send a prompt response._

_ Professor S. Snape._

Mary Sue found herself somewhat overcome with dual emotions. Excitement was prevalent, in dispersed with a littering of fear. She, Mary Sue Cotterill, was the first and only journalist Severus Snape would ever speak too. What if she messed it up?


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: We do appologize for the long wait and promist that it is very much worth the wait :) This chapter is brought to you by Tambrathegreat! **

**Discalinmer: no fame, no money, no guts, no glory, just for the fun of it**

**Chapter 5: Not a date... Nope... not a date...**

This meeting most certainly wasn't a date, no matter what the tippling Trelawney said in her best imitation of a mystical voice over dinner that evening. Severus smoothed his hand over his hair self-consciously as he strode out of the Great Hall, his teaching robes swirling with their usual flair. It was of no consequence that he had looked forward to this little tête à tête with less dread than was his usual wont during social interactions. Nor was it of any matter that he had taken greater care with his appearance, going so far as to wash his hair for the second time that day before donning his carefully selected third-best robes.

It was not as if Miss Cotterill would care one whit what he wore or how he comported himself, as long as he answered her ever-lengthening list of questions. That she had approached him and his own sensibilities with more care than most would have, including the ever intrusive Potter, did much to make him more comfortable with how his own story might be handled by her. The problem was in the telling of the sordid tale.

_It was not a date_. He still had feelings for Lily, didn't he? He still had regrets that precluded him from forming emotional attachments of a romantic or even erotic nature. Regardless of those maudlin thoughts, all he needed was one look in the mirror to remind himself why he would never achieve any sort of intimacy with the opposite sex, even if that person were to be able to look past his scars, his dark past, and his snark. He was still the same uncomely, abrasive man he had been before the war.

He came to the gates and took a deep breath. It would do him no good to come to this meeting with less than a calm mind, no matter how gentle the questioner. He suspected his interrogator might have harder questions for him this evening. He needed the same steely calm with which he had faced the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore even if there was no fear of physical death. He had his reputation to consider as shredded as it was.

He lifted his arm, waved his wand and stepped through the edifice, his mind now a blank, calm. Let the woman ask what she would. He would be able to withstand her questions, and perhaps get this entire process finished so that he might spend his evenings in more productive pursuits. Whatever they were…

Mary Sue had learned over the years the being prompt was the highest form of respect one could give to a person who was disinclined to speak with her due to her profession. Therefore, when she realised she was the first to arrive for the appointment, she had taken the liberty of securing a private room on the upper floor of the pub and warding it against intrusion from any number of nefarious products sold since after the war. She held her sneakoscope in her right hand and ran over the entirety of the room one last. The only time it even beeped was when she ran over a little, acid-green, Japanese beetle, which she flicked off the windowsill with a shudder. Obviously her aversion to six-legged creatures was picked up by the overly sensitive device. She put it in her pocket, and turned her attention to the rest of the room.

She looked around, noting with some chagrin that a rather large, four-poster bed was situated in the corner. It was obviously a remnant of the days when the Three Broomsticks served as both hostel and public house. She hoped that Snape wouldn't come away from the meeting with the wrong idea, even though heat seemed to fill her core at the thought of him taking even the slightest advantage of her during their meeting. She quashed the feeling of arousal with the same determination that she had used to attract his attention in the first place. Now was not the time to entertain ridiculous fantasies about such a private person. Not when she had the scoop on Rita for the first time in her career.

Even so, she ran her hand over the counterpane on the bed before taking a regretful breath. No, fantasy and reality were best kept apart in her line of work.

Severus blew into the pub, with a scowl plastered upon his face. He had run into the remaining Weasley twin on the way into Hogsmeade. He still regretted his actions that maimed the young man and chastised himself the entire time Weasley inveigled him about whatever it was he was nattering on about.

Once in the common area of the pub, he noted with some disdain that Miss Cotterill was absent. He moved to the bar to obtain some firewhisky. Rosemerta smiled absently at him as he approached. "Hullo, Severus."

"Madam." He inclined his head politely as he slid a Sickle toward her. "Ogdens, please."

She shook her head with a little rueful smile, pushing the coin back towards him. "Your lady friend asked that I direct you to your room upstairs, Severus. You don't want to keep her waiting, do you?"

"Ours is a professional acquaintance, nothing more, Madam." Severus felt his face heat as he noted several patrons listening. "Which room is it?"

Rosemerta leaned in, giving him ample view of her bosom and a little squeeze to his hand. "I put her in the Lilac room. It's the one I used to let to that cute little Auror, the one who married the werewolf, when she was assigned here the year… well, you know…"

She looked away, shamefaced, remembering, no doubt, her part in the tragedy that unfolded the year before Severus was named Headmaster. Severus let a small upward tilt of his lips show before he extricated his hand from Rosemerta's absent grip. "Thank you, Madam. If you would have one of your elves send up a pot of tea and some honey..."

She leaned in and said in a conspiratory whisper, "No matter what you say, I think it's grand that you've finally decided to live, Severus. You've cut yourself off from happiness for too long. Now get on with you. You really don't want to keep a lady waiting."

Perhaps it was only a coincidence that a group of patrons chose that moment to laugh, but Severus gave his best quelling scowl nonetheless.

He made his way up the stairs, pausing to let a patron aside and surreptitiously brushing his robes after they passed. He paused at the door, self-consciously running his hand over his fly-away hair before raising his hand to knock on the smooth, lilac wood. The ozone feel of freshly cast wards battled against his motion until he gave a sharp rap, sparing his knuckles by using the blade of his hand, and then waited.

Miss Cotterill opened the door. She smiled nervously, "Punctual as usual, I see."

She motioned him in. "I hope you don't mind… about the room, I mean. I just had a feeling that the Skeeter woman was following for the past couple of days. I didn't want to chance her being able to eavesdrop. I mean, this room is private and warded and all…"

Severus remained by the door. "It is acceptable, Miss Cotterill."

He drew out his wand, layering further wards on the less effective ones that had already been cast. Miss Cotterill gave him a chagrined smile. "I never could get the hang of the more complex wards. How did you master that last one you cast?"

Severus smirked and crossed to the small table situated before the fireplace, "And thus the interrogation begins."

If she hadn't been so attuned to dry humour, she might have been affronted by Snape's comment, but the arid lift of his eyebrow and the small quirk of his mouth gave him away. "Of course, Professor, I'm a woman on a mission."

She took the seat opposite him arranging her notebook and quill for quick access. "So, how was the rest of your weekend?"

She almost smiled at the darkling look he shot her.

"My weekend, and my week, was filled with puling dunderheads with on an overabundance of hormones." His elegant, if stained, fingers worried the white cuff of his linen shirt which peeked out from his robes. He cast a scathing glance at her, "I do hope your questions will be much more in-depth than my thoughts on my students and other such idle chit-chat, Miss Cotterill."

The tray arrived with the soft _pop!_ of elvish Apparition. She inclined her head, "Your doing?"

The Professor glowered, his cheeks suddenly tinged with colour. His answer was a tight pursing of his lips.

"Thank you, that was very thoughtful." Mary Sue nearly smirked at his scowl. He was a man obviously unused to even the smallest praise. It made her wonder at what his life might have been like before the war. "I'll be mother."

She deftly poured the tea, adding honey, before sliding his in front of him. With a wave of her wand, she set her Dictaquill to transcribe their session before taking up her own writing implements, a biro and spiral binder. Snape sat up, the tension in his shoulders evident as she asked, "I've often wondered how you became interested in Potions when it was rumoured that you coveted the Defence position for so long."

"Ah." Snape lifted his cup to his lips, took a sip of the still piping hot tea. "My mother excelled in Potions in her time at Hogwarts. She was the first to recognise that I might show some aptitude. She encouraged my interest for a time."

"For a time?" Mary Sue countered.

The Professor's eyes glittered malevolently for a moment. "Yes, for a time. Her situation became… difficult."

"You said she excelled at Potions." Mary Sue said, "Did she pursue mastery?"

Snape stood suddenly, tea still in hand. He crossed to the small window, his back to her. "My father was a Muggle and whilst Muggle women today are encouraged to pursue goals outside the family just as any witch could at the time. However, in those days Muggle women, and witches who married Muggles, were expected to be more… domestically inclined." His free hand fell to the window sill, his knuckles white as he gripped the wood. "So to answer your question in one word, no. She gave all that up to be with… _him_."

The last, contempt-laced word hung heavily in the air between them.

Mary Sue chose silence rather than a question to spur him to speak. After a moment, he turned his profile towards her, his distinctive features made harsh by the light of the fire. He finally spoke, "My father was a hard man. He made my mother weak."

He turned back to the window, seeming to stare at his reflection in contempt for a moment before lifting his cup to his lips and taking a drink. Once done, he drawled, "Surely this rather dreary subject has little to do with the subject of your book, Miss Cotterill."

"We all have history, Professor, some more interesting than others," Mary Sue responded, consciously gentling her tone. "I'm simply trying to get a feel for what factors made you… who you are."

"No doubt your next line of questioning will be about my putative love life." He turned towards her, posing laconically against the wall. "Please don't disappoint me, Miss Cotterill."

"Actually, my next question was going to be about the time you spent in care when you were eight." Mary Sue rose and crossed towards him.

He stiffened and his calm mask slipped and then his shoulders hunched inward, the very picture of the dejected, abused child she had seen in the intake photos. She had paid dearly for the files, had traded quite a few favours to view the background that no one else cared to see.

He said after a long pause, "That subject is… beyond the scope of this interview."

Suddenly she felt the need to touch him, to let him know somehow that she cared more than it appeared at the moment. A memory floated to her forebrain, one of seeing him in school, standing dejectedly outside the Gryffindor dorm one night as she and one of her classmates returned from the library. It wasn't an image she had dwelt on much, but sometimes, as she did now, she remembered him like that, and her natural curiosity was piqued. She touched his arm, and he flinched. "I'm sorry, I suppose I just… wanted to know why no one in the magical world ever intervened. I mean… someone had to know."

Snape looked down at her hand before pulling away from her contact. "Who said they didn't?"

He stalked from the room, leaving Mary Sue feeling inexplicably bereft.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This chapter is brought to you by the lovely nagandsev. Hope you enjoy it!**

**Chapter 6: The Problem with the Beetle**

Mary Sue watched in slow motion the door closing shut. She couldn't help herself. _I can't let him leave like this! _

She rushed for the door and bolted out into the crickety wooden corridor of the Three Broomsticks' upper level.

The swirl of Severus' cape flowed behind him as his determined, steady pace took him further down the hall, step by step, away from her.

"Please!" Mary Sue called out to him before she could stop herself. "Don't go! Please, come back!" she called out. "I understand it's beyond the scope of this interview!"

Severus stopped and slowly turned to her, his dark eyes glittering with suppressed intent.

Seizing the second to hopefully remedy the situation, she cautiously walked towards him, halting only a few feet away. In the dim lighting, she looked up into his eyes and said, "It's all to be off the record; I care more about you—what happened, care about—than my profession may seem to show at the moment. Please don't leave now. We can start again." Instinctively, she touched his arm.

Severus flinched at the physical contact. Not answering her, he raised an eyebrow before he turned and strode away. As he reached the banister at the top of the stairs, taking in her sincere and hurt expression, he simply replied, "If I have need of you, if I wish to contact you, I shall." And with that he turned away and descended down and out of the pub.

As tears welled up in her eyes, Mary Sue fled back to the private room to gather her belongings. _There's still a chance to catch up with him!_ She checked she had everything and let the door slam behind her as she hastily rushed to follow Snape's trail.

But little did either Severus or Mary Sue know that a small coleoptera, snug and perched on the dingy bannister's shaded corner, had observed and mentally recorded everything that had occurred; an ordinary coleoptera to any unknowing observer, but an Animagus beetle — a little, acid-green Japanese beetle, known to a clandestine few.

Unfortuately, Mary Sue and Severus were not one of these priviliged few. Nor had Mary Sue used her sneakoscope on the corridor, for if she had, it would have beeped wildly detecting the six-legged eavesdropping creature.

The Animagus beetle, Rita Skeeter, gloated in glee. Severus Snape would be hers; at least, his interview would be... Or she would make sure that Mary Sue Cotterhill's—her competition— journalistic career would be over before it truly had a chance to begin.

Skeeter would make sure of that.

The next morning's Daily Prophet's most popular editorial column read:

**_Severus Snape's Mystery Woman: Desperate, Devious or Deserted? Shifty Informant Tactics or Spurned Unrequited Love?_**

_Yesterday, Severus Snape was spotted in a dingy public house dwelling in the midst of a passionate lover's quarrel. The lauded hero, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's spy and informant, claims he has been inaccessible for public comment on the details of his role in the war due to private hearings with the Ministry of Magic—what are these hearings? _

_Can one believe the common gossip of his claims to be held up with Wizengamot briefings? Or are devious distractions occupying Severus Snape? Odd and unbelievable events are to be believed, unless Mr Snape would like to clear his dubious reputation and whereabouts? Whether spurning the advances of a witch or accepting the enticing offers of her favours, his quest for the coveted, prestigious position as Headmaster of Hogwarts is left to much speculation. Seeking the Headmaster position, but denied it by a fearful Ministry, have his dubious intentions been_ _mollified by a piecemeal offering? Clandestine compromise or not? What does the true Severus Snape want? Who is the true Severus Snape? This journalist challenges him to come forward to account for his past actions, absences, and intentions to both the spurned witch and Wizarding World—where do your loyalties lie, Mr Snape? Only the murderer of Dumbledore, or as he is known in some circles, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's betrayer knows. Harry Potters says he is 'the bravest man he ever knew', but is he the most honest man he has ever known'? Apparently not, if his further clandestine actions speak for him. Leading astray a gullible public who have the right to know: What's the real scoop, Severus Snape?_ _It's you we want and demand to know!_

Rita Skeeter's office door at the Daily Prophet burst open with a bang.

Breathless and outraged, Mary Sue Cotterhill shook the rag paper at her, confronting the complacent journalistic nob. "How dare you? How dare you write these lies! How on earth did you even come up with this preposterous, irresponsible pulp on him—a war hero? An honourable man? How could you?"

"My, my, we are passionate about him, aren't we?" Rita eyes twinkled with malicious glee. "I wonder what the mystery woman is feeling now?" Skeeter gave Mary Sue a knowing wink.

Mary Sue's mouth dropped open in shock. She snapped it shut and went to her neutral zone, mustering all her will power to hold her emotions in. _How in all that is holy does she know?_ Her mind racing, she quickly drew from her journalism training technique when dealing with some who was playing turn-the-table on you. _Don't let her get the upper hand! I'll sell my soul if I have to—but I'll find out your sources, Rita Skeeter!_

Mary Sue huffed out, "Don't you play with me. How dare you defame his character with tawdry implications?"

"I have my sources," purred Skeeter and wickedly smiled. "Why, one would think _you _were the mystery woman." Rita cocked her head. "Comment?"

There was an awkward silence, and Skeeter was pleased to see her colleague's face turn red, beyond the younger journalist's control.

"Because you're no ordinary journalist, are you, Mary Sue?" Rita's eyes narrowed in a impious expression. "Of course, up and coming little upstarts as yourself wouldn't dream of a seasoned, experienced journalist deserving Snape's story, such as myself?" The Slytherin's claws came out. "He's _mine_. His story's legend, my dear."

Appalled, Mary Sue spelled out, "He would never give the likes of you the time of day, let alone the private details of his past!"

Rita Skeeter dropped her façade of pretense and snarled, "Well, we'll see how his _reputation _will hold up if he doesn't give me an interview!"

"You dare to threaten him?" Mary Sue felt her heart pounding wildly, feeling a growing anxiety for Severus' welfare swell up uncontrollably inside her. _I must protect him from this barracuda!_ "What do you want?"

The smugness crept back slowly on Rita's face. "An exclusive interview with the honourable Severus Snape…. I want the juicy scoop—on everything! Tell your lover boy that he either gives me an exclusive, or I'll go public with the mystery witch's identity. Nothing earth shattering for him, Snape knows how to snake his way around the best!" Skeeter smirked evilly. "But for your journalistic reputation and career—well, let's just see how much lover boy cares about you, Mary Sue!"

"He is _not _my lover boy! Don't you dare threaten me. How dare you threaten to defame him!"

Deviously, Rita purred, "What makes him tick, Mary Sue?" Skeeter winked salaciously at her.

"And I'm not threatening you, Miss Cotterhill." She continued in a sickeningly sweet tone. "I'm merely offering options. It's your choice how you want this to turn out."

"It's not my choice. If you think I would even consider persuading him, manipulating the poor man in anyway—you're wrong! He has witnessed such tragedy and endured so much throughout his life, let alone in his role as a spy!"

"My, my, we truly, deliciously are passionate about him, aren't we?" Rita smirked. "Good. Very good. The public always enjoys _real _emotions. So tell me, what's it going to be, Mary Sue? Either you get him to give me what I want, or I'll ruin you, dragging him down with you… He'll never be considered for the Headmastership again." Skeeter raised an eyebrow, quixotically. "Your answer?"

Mary Sue swallowed hard. _Here goes my book, my career… but at least… _She opened her mouth to answer as Rita opened hers in a broad, vicious leer of triumph.

Before Mary Sue could answer, both witches froze, hearing a distinct baritone voice behind them speak.

"No need to answer her, Miss Cotterhill… As I'm the object of Ms Skeeter's _interest,_ I shall answer her. Quite thoroughly, I shall."

The poison-penned, enchantingly nasty journalist gave her lured prey an inviting, smug look.

_And perhaps I shall do something about that self-satisfied glow of Skeeter's while I'm at it,_ thought Severus darkly. _A permanent fix._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Digging Deeper **

Mary Sue sat across from Severus, her legs crossed demurely. She knew that, not for the first time, it would be her that spoke first, that broke the silence even as they sat in the privacy of her little office. It shouldn't have surprised her really, the lengths he was willing to go to get what he wanted, the depths of his ruthlessness to achieve those ends. The most shocking realization was he'd tortured, threatened, and berated Rita in order to, in some capacity at least, protect Mary Sue. It only made her crush on the man deepen.

"So…" she started.

"You left before assuring yourself that I forced Skeeter's silence," he said, dark voice rippling along her nerve-endings.

"Well, I'm sorry. I'm not well-versed in torturing people into submission," Mary Sue retorted.

Ever-so-slightly one corner of his mouth quirked up, "There are those that would disagree with you."

"I bed your pardon?" she gasped, clueless as to who might think such a thing. Really, she could barely stand to see a bug killed let alone torture someone.

"Some would say that your profession lends itself to the torture of one's subjects."

"And I would tell them that if they've done nothing wrong and have nothing to hide then they shouldn't be afraid of any questions _I_ might ask."

"I believe some other, less… honorable colleagues of yours would belie that statement. Simple observation would tell you that some more prominent reporters could likely write an entire expose on any subject without ever conducting an interview. In fact the interviewee could spout complete rubbish and it wouldn't matter as the article would only twist all their words into something unrecognizable."

It seemed the Potions Master had just provided her with the opportunity to question him again… if only she dared to take the chance. "So, would you say that Rita's created a mistrust in reporters or is it a more general distrust of…people you have?"

"There are… were a few I trusted."

"I take it you don't trust me then? Even though I've never given you a reason not to."

"You've give me no reason to do so," he intoned, raising an eyebrow at her. Mary Sue liked to imagine he was amused at her cheekiness.

"In that case you would be willing to do to me what you did to Rita? To get everything to go your way?" She liked that he'd done it to protect her yes, but that didn't mean she was okay with torturing another person, no matter how horrible they were. Besides she wasn't going to fool herself into thinking he'd done it only for her benefit. He'd also been protecting his privacy.

Severus Snape suddenly seemed more… tense if that was possible. He always held himself rather stiff if Mary Sue had thought about it but now he appeared stiffer. "Contrary to what you apparently think of me I do not delight in the torment of those weaker than myself. However, Rita Skeeter is in no way as powerless as she might like others to believe."

"Either way… she knows what the people want to read," Mary Sue sighed.

"Yes," Severus nodded, "She's quite talented at writing fiction."

Mary Sue tried, she really did, but she couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. "She is at that, it's true. That's not exactly a stellar recommendation though when one works for a newspaper with integrity and not one of those tabloids."

"It does make one curious as to why they continue to keep her on," Severus mused.

"She's probably got some dirt on them," Mary Sue shrugged, "Or at least enough information to make up some sort of damming story with just enough truth to make things plausible and undeniable. And as we both know even if it's not true just putting the idea out there is enough to do a great deal of damage to someone's reputation."

"Interesting theory," he said, straightening his sleeves, "Perhaps we should conduct some investigations of our own and find out what Rita Skeeter wants no one to know."

Mary Sue could only hope that she wasn't blushing too much. He was willingly offering to spend time with her? To work with her? She knew it was wrong to get involved in someone else's private business without their permission and she certainly didn't hold with blackmailing someone but… "That sounds… rather exciting," she grinned.

"From that response, Miss Cotterill I would assume you have a touch of Slytherin in you."

"I was in Gryffindor actually," she said, thinking that had they been in the same house she might not be sitting here still lusting after the man, "Being that I'm only a couple years younger than yourself, had I been in Slytherin you might have been at least aware of me."

"Perhaps," was all he said in response, frowning. Severus, in turn, was thinking that he'd barely noticed any female besides Lily back then.

"Oh… that's right. Sorry. I forgot… about her." Now she was just depressed. Severus might have protected her reputation, he might smirk and laugh at her, but he certainly didn't love her and was surely still hung up on Lily Evans. He wanted to work with Mary Sue to blackmail Rita but if he had the choice she was certain it was Lily he'd be working with. It was time to separate, go home, and lick her wounds.

Severus shifted in his seat. He could tell from the look on Miss Cotterill's face that he had somehow upset her. It was her own fault though. She'd brought it upon herself, talking about their school days like that and he certainly wasn't going to apologize for something he didn't do. Nor was he going to console her as she might wish him to do. No.

"Perhaps, it would be best if we went our separate ways now," he said, standing.

She'd upset him. Once again Mary Sue had angered him unintentionally and now he was leaving. "If you think that's best…"

"I do," he nodded, "Perhaps we should meet within the next couple days to begin our investigations. I'll write you informing you when I am available if that is acceptable to you." Damn it. Why did he have to go and offer her a meeting? The woman's face was now lit up and it was clear she was pleased by his offer.

"I look forward to your letter then," Mary Sue beamed, popping up and holding out her hand.

He very briefly shook her hand then strode out the door, not looking back.

Mary Sue watched him go, acting like a complete loon and holding the hand he'd touched to her chest, half promising herself that she'd never wash it again. Which was utter rubbish of course. After all, she was a grown woman and would, at some point in the near future, have a need to wash her hand. Still, it was fun to act like a ridiculous teenager for a moment.

With a sigh, she picked up anything she thought might be useful to her in investigating Rita, locked her office door securely, using a few spells for good measure, and headed for her flat to wait upon Severus's letter.


End file.
